


IHHH 



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PRINCIPLES 



ELOCUTION AND VOCAL CULTURE 

IX WHICH THE 

RULES FOR CORRECT READING AND SPEAKING, AND DIRECTIONS 

FOR IMPROVING AND STRENGTHENING THE 

VOICE, ARE GIVEN. 

AND ALSO 

A VARIETY OP EXERCISES AND SELECTIONS 

FOR PRACTICE. 



By Rev. B. W. ATWELL, 

PROFESSOR OF ELOCUTION. 





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'****■ Washing 


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PROVIDENCE: 


BANGS 


WILLIAMS NEWS CO 




1867. 



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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 

B. W. ATWELL, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Rhode Island. 



HECHOTVfEB AT THE 

ISTON STEREOTYPE FOUNtHl 

NO. 4 SPRING LANE. 



UUIUUHBHB 



PREFACE 



This work is brief, but comprehensive, containing 
all the important ideas of Elocution. Most works of 
its character are burdened with complicated rules and 
exceptions, so that but few, if any, attempt to master 
them. I have endeavored to avoid this serious defect, 
and to present a popular method, which every person 
at once comprehends and finds pleasure in perusing.. 
This work is published, in part, for my own use as 
a teacher of elocution, and also as a text-book for 
teachers and students generally. The directions for 
training and developing the vocal organs are explicit,, 
and the selections for elocutionary practice varied, and 
from the best authors. An appreciation and use of 
these will result in a rich,' full-toned voice, and a 
graceful and effective delivery. 



Providence, May 1, 1867. 



B. W. A. 

(3) 



.Mf*J3v<aXu^ 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
Definition of Elocution 9 

The Voice 9 



BREATHING EXERCISES. 

Attitude 9 

Inhaling and Exhaling. . 10 

Inhaling and Expelling 10 

Gentle Breathing 10 

Forcible Breathing 10 

Rapid Breathing 10 

The Sigh, Sob, and Pant 10 

Active and Passive Chest 10 

Larynx Exercise 10 

Percussion of the Chest 10 

Whispering 10 

Laughing 10 ; 

Vigorous Enunciation II 

The Tremolo. . . •. 11. 

PURITY OF TONE. 

Purity of Tone absolutely essential Ill 

(5) 



CONTENTS. 



PRONUNCIATION. 

Errors in Articulation 13 

Examples 13 

Repetition of Elements 13 

Particular Suggestions 14 

PAUSES. 

The Object 15 

Plain Rules for their Use 15 

Examples , 16 

INFLECTIONS. 

Definition 16 

Rules for the Use of Inflections 16 

Examples — The Rising and Falling 17 

Questions and Clauses connected by Or 17 

Or used conjunctively 17 

Complete Sentences 17 

Comparison and Contrast 17 

Emphatic Utterances 18 

Enumeration of Particulars 18 

The Circumflex of both Kinds 18 

The use of the Monotone 18 

Special Rule 19 

EMPHASIS. 

About applying Emphasis 19 

Special Rule 20 



CONTENTS. 7 

MODULATION AND THE QUALITY OF THE 

VOICE. 

Nature must be the Model 20 

THE READING OF POETRY. 
A Final Word 21 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 

Remarks 24 

The Elocution of the Pulpit. . . Rev. James Fordyce. 25 

The Ocean — Its Grandeur and Sublimity. Rev. IF. Colton. 27 

Sincerity. Tillotson. 29 

A Reflection 31 

Crime its own Detector Daniel Webster. 32 

Discoveries of Galileo Edward Everett. 34 

Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua 36 

Hamlet's Instructions to Players Shakspeare. 39 

SELECTIONS IN POETItY. 

The Coral Grove . J. G. Percival. 41 

Infelicissime Nassau Magazine. 42 

A Legend W. C. Bryant. 45 

Macbeth's Soliloquy Shakspeare. 47 

Mercy . . . Shakspeare. 48 

Speech of Caius Gracchus. . . .J. Sheridan Knowles. 49 

Thanatopsis W. C. Bryant. 50 



8 



CONTENTS. 



Marco Bozzaris Ealleck. 53 

The Sailor Boy's Dream Dimond. 55 

Miscellaneous 57 

The Chameleon Merrick. 59 

The Three Warnings Mrs. Thrale. G2 

The Smack in School G5 

The Vagabonds ' . . J. T. Trowbridge. 67 

The Razor Seller Walcot. 70 

Miscellaneous 72 

The Charge of the Light Brigade Tennyson. 75 

The Pauper's Death-Bed Southey. 77 

Posthumous Fame Colman. 78 

One Good Turn deserves another. . . . Mrs. Gilman. 79 

Driving Home the Cows 80 

SELECTIONS IN DIALOGUES. 

A Scene from "As You Like It." .... Shakspeare. 83 

William Tell 85 

Mr. Pickwick's Romantic Adventure. . . . Dickens. 91 






ATWELL'S 

EPITOME OF ELOCUTION". 



ELOCUTION. 



Elocution is the art which enables one to deliver 
written or extemporaneous composition with ease, force, 
accuracy, and variety, i. c., eloquently. 

In this work we purpose to present only the more 
practical thoughts. 

The Voice. 

As the voice is the capital of the orator, the means 
for its development and improvement are first to be 
considered. Its quality and compass depending upon 
the condition of the vocal organs, the following exercises 
are introduced to strengthen, and give to them freedom 
of action. 



BREATHING EXEECISES. 

Exercise 1. Attitude. — The body must be erect, 
resting upon the ball of the foot ; one foot a little in 
advance of the other, so that all the muscles of the 
breathing apparatus may be free to perform their func- 
tions. (°) 



r 
10 ATWELI-'S EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 

Exercise 2. Inhaling and Exhaling. — Inhale 
through the nostrils a full breath, and send it forth 
gently through them. 

Exercise 3. Inhaling and Expelling. — Inhale 
as before, and expel vigorously in like manner. 

Exercise 4. Gentle Breathing. — Inflate the lungs 
through the mouth, and send the breath forth tran- 
quilly, with a prolonged sound of the letter h. 

Exercise 5. Explosive Breathing. — Following 
directions already given, emit with violent explosion 
in the short sound of the letter k. 

Exercise 6. Rapid Breathing. — Sigh, sob, gasp, 
and pant. These last-mentioned efforts, with which 
all persons are familiar, will excite the orgaus intensely, 
and also accustom the student to the expression of emo- 
tions which enter into almost every style of composition. 

Exercise 7. The Active and Passive Chest. — 
Draw in and send forth the breath, causing all the 
organs of the chest to rise and fall freely at each effort. 

Exercise 8. For the Larynx. — Utter the hard 
sounds of 6, d, g. This exercise enlarges the larynx 
and tightens the vocal chords, and thus increases the 
volume and quality of the voice. 

Exercise 9. The Percussion of the Chest. — 
Expand the chest by a full inhalation, and thump it 
gently with the fingers, they being open and flexible. 

Exercise 10. Whispering. — Whisper the vowels, 
and consonants, and also forcible passages. 

Exercise 11. Laughing. — Utter rapidly the breath- 
ing h. To make the exercise more exhilarating and at- 
tractive, prefix the element h to the vowels a, e, i, o, u, 
and utter them separately and earnestly. 



RULES AND EXERCISES. . 11 

Exercise 12. Vigorous Enunciation. — Utter the 
clement o eight times ; increase in force and volume to 
the end. 

Exercise 13. The Tremolo. — Give forth tremu- 
lous emissions of the breath ; utter passages in this 
voice. 

Many more Exercises. 
There are many more exercises for the development 
and strengthening of the organs of speech ; but these, 
faithfully practised, will accomplish all that any person 
can desire in this direction. It is not the number that 
we practice which benefits, but a judicious use of the few 
more important ones. 



PURITY OF TONE. 

Purity of tone is absolutely essential to good speaking ; 
without it distinct articulation is impossible. In present- 
ing this point we shall quote from the excellent work, by 
Russell and Murdock, upon vocal culture : — 

" It is important that the pupil, at the very outset of 
vocal study, should have the ability of appreciating purity 
of tone. Unless he has some distinct perception of it, — 
in other words, unless a model of pure tone has been 
formed in his own mind, — all merely physical effort to 
acquire it will be likely to fail. 

" The practice of the scale in swelling tones, is chiefly 
relied upon by teachers of vocal music, for developing 
the voice, and for acquiring purity, mellowness, flexi- 
bility, and an adequate breadth of tone. 



12 



atwell's epitome of elocution. 



u Immediately before singing each sound, breath should 
be taken so as completely to inflate the lungs ; and after 
pausing an instant with the chest well expanded, the 
sound should commence with firmness, but with great 
softness, then gradually augmented to the loudest de- 
gree, succeeded by being as gradually diminished to the 
degree of force with which it began. Each tone should 
be prolonged from eighteen to twenty seconds. 

" This exercise, as a general rule, should be continued 
for about two months, singing the scale daily about four 
times. 

" In the delivery of the tones of the ' chest register,' 
the air ought to escape without touching the surfaces of 
the mouth ; the tones of the ' medium register,' are best 
acquired by directing the air a little above the upper 
front teeth : — in those of the ' head register,' the air 
is directed vertically." 

Example. 
ah > ah <^ ah >< ah <> 



PRONUNCIATION. 



Under this head is embraced Articulation, Syllabica- 
tion, and Accent. The two last particulars will not be 
considered, as they are sufficiently understood by most 
readers. With regard to the first, attention will be 
directed mainly to the errors so common and difficult 
to remedy. A few special rules will also be given for 
the correct pronunciation of certain particular letters and 
words. 



RULES AND EXERCISES. 13 



Errors in Articulation. 

Errors in articulation are in consequence of the omis- 
sion of one or more elements in a word, or from the 
sounding of one or more elements that should not be 
sounded, or from substituting one element for another. 

Error 1. 

frien's for friends, 
wil's " wilds. 





Examples. 


an' 


for 


and. 


fiel's 


u 


fields. 


ev en 


a 


ii/RE 

ev'n. 


heav en 


u 


heav'n. 


set 


u 


JliRE 

sit. 


sence 


a 


since. 



rav el " rav'l. 

sev en " sev'n, &c. 
3. 

shet *' shut, 

git " get, &c. 

To these few examples of mispronunciation the student 
may add others, and by repeating them correctly, learn to 
avoid them. There is no better exercise for improvement 
in elocution. Especially may distinctness in utterance be 
attained by pronouncing properly words ending with g, £, 
ds, st. It is well to often repeat all the sounds of the 
letters in the alphabet. Much attention should be given 
to this in the early stages of education, where at present 
it is generally neglected. 

Repetition of Elements. 

.Hail ! Aeavenly Aarmony. 

Up the high M\\ he Aeaved a huge round stone. 

Heaven's first star alike ye see. 

Let it wave proudly o'er the good and brave. 



14 



ATWELL S EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 



The supply lasts still. 

And gleaming ancZ streaming and steaming and beaming, 

And. rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, 

And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, 

And curling and whirlingr and purling and twirling, 

Retreating and beating and meeting ancZ sheeting, 

Delaying and straying ancZ playing ancZ spraying, 

Advancing ancZ glancing ancZ prancing ancZ dancing, 

Recoiling, turmoiling ancZ toiling ancZ boiling, 

And thumping and flumping ancZ bumping ancZ jumping, 

And dashing ancZ flashing ancZ splashiug ancZ clashing, 

AncZ so never ending, but alwags descending, 

Sounds ancZ motions for ever ancZ eve?' are blending, 

All at once ancZ all o'er, with a mighty uproar ; 

AncZ this way the water comes down at Lodore. 

It is the firs? step that cos?s. 

The deed was done in broacZ cZay. 

None now was left to tell the mournful tale. 

Take care that you be not deceivecZ, — cZear friends. 

Xie Zightly ou her, earth ! her step was light on thee. 

Thou was? sZruck dumb with amazement. 

Can no one be found faithful enough to warn him of 
his danger ? No one dared do it. 

A goocZ cZeal of disturbance ensued. 

He gave Aim good advice which he did not take. 

A dar& cloud spread over the heavens. 

Had he but heeded the counsel of Ais friend, he might 
jftavc been saved. 

He came at las? too late to be of any service. 

The magistrates stood on an elevated platform. 



rules and exercises. 15 

Certain Particular Letters and Words. 

1. Articles a, the, and the letter u. The unemphatic 
a is pronounced. as a in at. 

Example. — There was a man, a boy, and a cat. 

2. The is unemphatic before words commencing with 
a consonant sound, and is pronounced thii. 

Example. — Thii people, thii senators, thii king. 

3. Um such words as constitution, duty, is generally 
mispronounced, having the sound of o in do, when it 
should be soft like eu in beauty. 



PAUSES. 

Pauses are introduced for a variety of purposes — to 
mark surprise, expectation, uncertainty ; also to make 
emphasis effective. Their importance may be over- 
rated, as in a work entitled ' The Human Voice,' where 
we are told that they, used with propriety, constitute 
the beauty of elocution, while emphasis destroys it. The 
number of them depends upon the character of the com- 
position. 

Plain Rules tor their Use. 

1. After a compound nominative or a single emphatic- 
nominative, a pause is necessary. 

Examples. 
Joy or sorrow, moves him not. No people, can claim him. 

2. Pause after words in apposition and opposition. 

Examples. 
James, the clerk at Eichmond's. Armington is wrong, not I. 






16 



atwell's epitome of elocution. 



3. The words but, hence, standing at the beginning 

of a sentence denoting transition, require a pause after 

them . 

Example. 

But, it remained for Charlie, to render the piece well. 

4. The word that, when a conjunction or relative, the 
adverbs when and whence used in the same sense, and 
also the relative pronouns who, which, what, require a 
pause before them. 

Other instances might be named where pauses would 
be useful ; but it is unnecessary to multiply them. 
Good judgment will guide one in their use, and inform 
us when they will bring out the meaning of a passage. 



INFLECTIONS. 



Inflection is that movement of the voice which, by 
rising or falling, or by the combination of the two move- 
ments, making a circumflex, varies our style of address. 
The fault of most speakers is the abuse of the monotone ; 
by appropriate inflections it is avoided. 

Rules for the Use of Inflections. 

1. The rising inflection is proper when questions may 
be answered by yes or no ; also when there is doubt or 
uncertainty : the falling, when questions are asked ve- 
hemently, or cannot be answered by yes or no. 



Examples. 



James, atey° u 



doing 



igM? /, 



** 



$Of 



James, 



are 7oudoi nf 



right? 



rules and exercises. 17 

Exception. 
A request for the repetition of something not under- 
stood, or a careless reply, has the rising inflection. 
Examples. 
W hat did you say? ^^you^ 

2. Questions, words, and clauses connected by or, and 
words and clauses contrasted, have the rising inflection. 

Examples. 
Will he go to town or regain at home? You can witness 
often, the effects of \o^ e and hat ^d, y>1 and &*%. 

3. Or, used conjunctively, the rising inflection is re- 
quired both before and after it, and also in case of 
contrast, one side being affirmed and the other denied. 

Examples. 
Can wealth -^not, or ^\ a ce save a s o^ 

My rule is not xigW^ut yours. 

4. Every complete sentence has the falling inflection, 

Examples. 
You are good. You do ^ justice. 

5. In the comparison and contrast of opposites, the 
first has the rising and the second the falling ; though 
when one side of the contrast is affirmed and the other 
denied, the latter has the rising. Also familiar address, 
and when there is a pause denoting incompleteness. 

Examples. 
Go and see the effect of «** and pea c e , *eaVk and poverty 
This man is tf^ 61 not fals e. friends, Boiatta ns, coun trymen. 

If & man is dying, comfort him with retig lon > and — 
2 



18 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

6. Emphatic words or passages generally have the 

falling inflection. 

Examples. 

Good; ^o^n. slave! Til °u fool ! 

7. When, several particulars are enumerated on which 

something depends, or from their happening something will 

follow, the last but one has the rising and all the others 

the falling. 

Examples. 

Correct habits of bought, heh ^io r , and st^y are rewarded, 
Temperance, h °nesty ; and frugaW i nsU re prosperity. 

The Compound Inflection, or Circumflex. 

This inflection, perhaps the most expressive of them, 
all, is used to express scorn, contempt, reproach, sur- 
prise, &c. 

Examples. 

To ^ hi m for a favor! 1 sco ^n it. What! you, yo u insi S" 

nificant prevaricator. So you see now, y o a ar e the guilty ^ 

a tvdr am thejud^ 

THE MONOTONE. 

This regular movement of the voice, when judiciously 
used, is very expressive, and indispensable. In the ren- 
dering of solemn and sublime passages of poetry, it adds 
wonderful force and dignity. 

Examples. 



"High on a throne of royal state, which far outshone the 



wealth of Ormus or of Ind." '• Lord, thou hast been our 



refuge from one generation to another," &c. 



rules and exercises. 19 

Special Rule. 

Suit the sound to the word. That is, do not, for 
instance, in reading the sublime passage from St. Paul, 
on the resurrection, " There is one glory of the sun, and 
another of the moon, and another of the stars" — pro- 
nounce each of the emphatic words in the same tone, but 
indicate you are speaking of the moon, of the sun, bright 
and glorious, of the glittering stars. 



EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis is the stress which is given to a word or 
words in a sentence, to distinguish them from the rest. 
An excess of it must be avoided. As Cicero judiciously 
observes, u A speaker must remit occasionally the vehe- 
mence of his actions, and not utter every passage with all 
the force of which he is capable : so as to set off the more 
strongly the emphatical parts : as the painter makes the 
figures staud out boldly by light and shades : there are 
always strong points, as they may be called, in every writ- 
ten piece, which must always Jbe attended to. These hills 
and dales, mountains and precipices, cataract and gulf; 
always keep some resources, and never utter the weaker 
with all your energy ; for if you do, there will be a fail- 
ing in the strong points — the most pathetic parts." 

About applying Emphasis. 
t 

1. Study faithfully what you would render, and dis- 
cover the emphatic word, for there is always some 
word or words of greater significance than the rest* 



20 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

Example. 
What and -whence art thou ? 

2. Pause somewhat before and after the emphatic 
word or words. 

3. Keep under all other words in the sentence. 

4. A repetition of emphatic words or phrases requires 
an increased force of utterance. 

Example. 
You ruined my son. You, sir ! 

5. In the climax there is a gradual increase of em- 
phatic force to the end. 

Example. 
Decline, change, and loss. The forming hand, the tombs, the 
very ashes they contained, are all gone. 

Special Rule. 

In case of parenthesis, repetition, or explanation, the 
subdued tones are invariably used. 



MODULATION AND THE QUALITY OF 
THE VOICE. 

The modulation and tone of the voice are decided by 
the style of the composition to be rendered. The narra- 
tive, descriptive, serious, and passionate are all expressed 
differently. In the absence of arbitrary rules, a supply 
of common sense will teach the right expression of any 
sentiment. Where the passions are much involved, to 
render well, we must study nature. If we would as- 
sume the character of Shylock, take as a model a penu- 
rious, money-getting person of your acquaintance, and 



RULES AND EXERCISES. 21 

imitate his manner — or to express sorrow correctly, study 
the conduct of the parent at the grave of a child. " The 
ancient Grecian actor, Polos, who, when he had the part 
of Electra to perforin, and was to represent the princess 
weeping over the ashes of her brother Orestes, ordered 
the urn which contained the ashes of his dear and only 
son to be brought upon the stage, and by this means 
excited in himself the pitch of grief with which he 
wished to affect his audience." 



THE BEADING OF POETRY. 

The rules which apply to the reading of prose may 
likewise be used with propriety and effect with reference 
to poetry. In the more difficult passages of poetry, the 
proper reading is decided by transposition. In these 
statements the majority of elocutionists agree. 

Finally. 

If a person expects to become a good elocutionist 
without labor, he will be disappointed. Practice, and 
constant persevering practice, is the only certain path to 
perfection in this branch of culture. Remember this, 
and act accordingly. 



SELECTIONS 



IN 



PROSE AND POETRY, 

FROM 

THE BEST AUTHORS. 

(23) 



REMARKS. 



This work, compared with many, contains but few 
selections for elocutionary practice ; yet they are suffi- 
ciently numerous to be of use to the teacher or student. 
The smaller the number, with patient study, the more 
marked the improvement. 

(24) 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 



I. THE ELOCUTION OF THE PULPIT. 

I cannot forbear regretting here, that a matter of such 
vast importance to preaching, as delivery, should be so 
generally neglected or misunderstood. A common appre- 
hension prevails, indeed, that a strict regard to these 
rules would be deemed theatrical ; and the dread, per- 
haps, of incurring this imputation, is a restraint upon 
many. But is it not possible to obtain a just and ex- 
pressive manner, perfectly consistent with the gravity of 
the pulpit, and yet quite distinct from the more passionate, 
strong, and diversified action of the theatre ? And is it 
not possible to hit off this manner so easily and naturally, 
as to leave no room for just reflection ? An affair this, 
it must be owned, of the utmost delicacy ; in which we 
shall probably often miscarry, and meet with abundance 
of censure at first. But still, I imagine, that through the 
regulations of taste, the improvements of experience, the 
corrections of friendship, the feelings of piety, and the 
gradual mellowiugs of time, such an elocution may be 
acquired, as is above delineated ; and such as, when ac- 
quired, will make its way to the hearts of the hearers, 
through their ears and eyes, with a delight to both, that 

(25) 



26 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

is seldom felt ; while, contrary to what is commonly 
practised, it will appear to the former the very lan- 
guage of nature, and present to the latter the lively 
image of the preacher s soul. Were a taste for this kind 
of elocution to take place, it is difficult to say how much 
the preaching art would gain by it. Pronunciation would 
be studied, an ear would be formed, the voice would be 
modulated, every feature of the face, every motion of 
the hands, every posture of the body, would be brought 
under right management. A graceful, aud correct, and 
animated expression in all these would be ambitiously 
sought after ; mutual criticisms and friendly hints would 
be universally acknowledged ; light and direction would 
be borrowed from every quarter, and from every age. 
The best models of antiquity would in a particular man- 
ner be admired, surveyed, and imitated. The sing-song 
voice, and the see-saw gestures, if I may be allowed to 
use those expressions, would, of course, be exploded.; 
and, in time, nothing would be admitted, at least ap- 
proved, among performers, but what Avas decent, manly, 
and truly excellent in the kind. Even the people them- 
selves would contract, insensibly, a growing relish for 
such a manner ; and those preachers would at last be in 
chief repute with all, who followed nature, overlooked 
themselves, appeared totally absorbed in the subject, and 
apoke with real propriety and pathos, from the immediate 
Impulse of truth and virtue. 

Rev. James Fordyce. 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 27 



II. THE OCEAN — ITS GRANDEUR AND SUBLIMITY. 

The most impressive exhibitions of power, known to 
to our globe, belong to the ocean. 

The volcano, with its ascending cloud of flame, and 
falling torrents of liquid fire, — and the earthquake, whose 
footstep is on the ruin of cities, — are circumscribed in the* 
desolating range of their visitation. But the ocean, when- 
roused in its chainless strength, shakes a thousand shores* 
with storm and thunder. 

Navies of oak and iron are tossed in mockery from its. 
crest, and whole armaments, manned by the strength and 
courage of millions, perish among its bubbles. 

The tempest on land is impeded by forests, and broken; 
by mountains ; but on the plain of the deep it rushes 
unresisted ; and when its strength is at last spent, ten> 
thousand giant waves, which it has called up, still roH 
its terrors onward. 

The avalanche, shaken from its glittering steep, if it 
rolls to the bosom of the earth, melts away and is lost 
in vapor ; but, if it plunge into the embrace of the ocean, 
this mountain mass of ice and hail is borne about for- 
ages, in tumult and terror — the drifting monument of 
the ocean's dead. 

The mountain lake, and the meadow stream, are in- 
habited only by the timid prey of the angler; but the 
ocean is the home of the leviathan, his ways are in the 
mighty deep. The glittering pebble, and the rainbow- 
tinted shell, which the retiring tide has left upon the shore 
as scarcely worthy of its care, — and the watery gem, 
which the pearl-diver reaches at the risk of his life, — 



28 ATWELl/s EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 

are all that man can filch from the treasures of the sea. 
The groves of coral which wave o'er its pavements, and 
the halls of amber which glow in its depths, are beyond 
his approach, save when he goes down amid the silent 
magnificence to seek his burial monument ! 

The island, the continent, the capitols of kings, are 
worn by time, washed away by the wave, consumed by 
the flame, or sunk by the earthquake. But the ocean 
still remains, and still rolls on, in the greatness of its 
unabated strength ; and over the majesty of its form, 
and the marvels of its might, time and disaster have no 
power. 

Even the vast clouds of vapor, which rise up from its 
bosom, roll away, to encircle the globe ; and on distant 
mountains and deserts pour out their watery treasures, 
which gather themselves again, in streams and torrents, 
and return with exulting bounds to their parent ocean. 
These are the messengers which proclaim in every land 
the exhaustless resources of the sea. But it is reserved 
for " those who go down to the sea in ships, to see the 
works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep." 

Man, also, has made the ocean the theatre of his 
power. The ship in which he rides that element, is 
one of the highest triumphs of his skill. At first, this 
floating fabric was only a frail bark, slowly urged by the 
laboring oar. The sail at length arose, and spread its 
wings to the wind. Still, when the lofty promontory had 
sunk from sight, and the orbs above him were lost in 
clouds, he had no power to direct his course. But the 
secret of the magnet is at length revealed to him ; and 
now, his needle settles to the polar star, with a fixedness 
which love has stolen as the emblem of its constancy. 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 29 

Now, however, he can dispense with sail, and oar, and 

flowing wave. He constructs his engine, of flame and 

vapor, and o'er the vast solitude of the sea, as o'er the 

solid earth, goes thundering on his track. 

On the ocean, too, thrones have been lost and won. 

On the fate of Actiura was suspended the empire of the 

world. In the Gulf of Salamis the pride of Persia found 

a grave, and the crescent set for ever in the waters of 

Navarino. While at Trafalgar and the Nile, nations 

held their breath, as each gun, from its adamantine lips, 

spread a death-shade around the ships, like the hurricane 

eclipse of the sun. 

Rev. Walter Colton. 



III. SINCEKITY. 

Truth and sincerity have all the advantages of ap- 
pearance, and many more. If the show of anything be 
good, I am sure the reality is better ; for why does any 
man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is not, — but 
because he thinks it good to have the qualities he pre- 
tends to ? Now, the best way for a man to seem to be 
anything, is to be in reality what he would seem to be r 
besides, — it is often as troublesome to support the pre- 
tence of a good quality, as to have it ; and, if a man have 
it not, it is most likely he will be discovered to want it ;: 
and then all his labor to seem to have it is lost. There- 
is something unnatural in painting, which a skilful eye; 
will easily discern from native beauty and complexion. 

Therefore, if any man think it convenient to seem,. 



30 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

good, let him be so indeed ; and then his goodness will 
appear to every one's satisfaction. Particularly, as to 
the affairs of this world, integrity hath many advantages 
over all the artificial modes of dissimulation and deceit. 
It is much the plainer and easier — much the safer, and 
more secure way of dealing in the world ; it has less of 
trouble and difficulty, of entanglement and perplexity, of 
danger and hazard in it. The arts of deceit and cunning 
continually grow weaker, and less serviceable to those 
that practise them ; whereas integrity gains strength by 
use ; and the more and longer any man practiseth it, the 
greater service it does him, by confirming his reputation, 
and encouraging those with whom he hath to do, to re- 
pose the greatest confidence in him ; which is an un- 
speakable advantage in business and the affairs of life. 

But insincerity is very troublesome to manage. A 
hypocrite hath so many things to attend to, as make his 
life a very perplexed and intricate thing. A liar hath 
need of a good memory, lest he contradict at one time 
what he said at another ; but truth is always consistent, 
and needs nothing to help it out ; it is always near at 
hand, and sits upon our lips ; whereas a lie is trouble- 
some, and needs a great mauy more to make it good. 
In a word, whatsoever convenience may be thought to 
be in falsehood or dissimulation, it is soon over ; but the 
inconvenience of it is perpetual ; because it brings a man 
under an everlasting jealousy and suspicion ; so that he 
is not believed when he speaks the truth ; nor trusted 
when, perhaps, he means honestly. When a man hath 
once forfeited the reputation of his integrity, nothing then 
will serve his turn ; neither truth nor falsehood. 

Indeed, if a man were only to deal in the world for a 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 31 

day, and should never have occasion to converse more 
with mankind, it were then no great matter (as far as 
respects the affairs of the world) if he spent his reputa- 
tion all at once ; or ventured it at one throw. But if he 
be to continue in the world, and would have the advan- 
tage of reputation while he is in it, let him make use 
of truth and sincerity in all his words and actions ; for 
nothing but this will hold out to the end. All other 
arts may fail ; but truth and integrity will carry a man 
through, and bear him out to the last. 

TlLLOTSOH". 



IV. A REFLECTION. 

When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emo- 
tion dies within me ; when I read the epitaphs of the 
beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out ; when I meet 
with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart 
melts with compassion ; when I see the tomb of the 
parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grief for 
those whom we must quickly follow. When I see kings 
lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival 
wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the 
world with their contentions and disputes, I reflect with 
sorrow .and astonishment on the Title competitions, fac- 
tions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several 
dates of the tombs of some that died yesterday, and some 
six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when 
we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make an ap- 
pearance together. 



32 



ATWELL S EPITOME Otf ELOCUTION, 



V. CRIME ITS OWN DETECTOR. 



Against the prisoner at the bar, as an individual, I 
cannot have the slightest prejudice. I would not do him 
the smallest injury or injustice. But I do not affect to be 
indifferent to the discovery and the punishment of this 
deep guilt. I cheerfully share in the opprobrium, Iioav 
much soever it may be, which is cast on those who feel 
and manifest an anxious concern that all who had a part 
in planning, or a hand in executing, this deed of midnight 
assassination, may be brought to answer for their enor- 
mous crime at the bar of public justice. 

Gentlemen, this is a most extraordinary case. In some 
respects it has hardly a precedent anywhere — certainty 
none in' our New England history. An aged man, with- 
out an enemy in the world, in his own house, and in his 
own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder, for 
mere pay. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined victim, 
and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old. man, to 
whom sleep was sweet — the first sound slumbers of the 
night hold him in their soft but strong embrace. 

The assassin enters through the window, already pre- 
pared, into an unoccupied apartment ; with noiseless foot 
he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon ; he 
winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door 
of the chamber. Of this he moves the lock, by soft and 
continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges ; and he 
enters and beholds his victim before him. The room was 
uncommonly light. The face of the innocent sleeper was 
turned from the murderer ; and the beams of the moon, 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 33 

resting on the gray locks of his aged temple, showed him 
where to strike. The fatal blow is given, and the victim 
passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose of 
sleep to the repose of death ! It is the assassin's purpose 
to make sure work ; and he yet plies the dagger, though 
it was obvious that life had been destroyed by the blow of 
the bludgeon. lie even raises the aged arm, that he may 
not fail in his aim at the heart, and replaces it again over 
the wounds of the poniard ! To finish the picture, he 
explores the wrist for the pulse ! he feels it, and ascer- 
tains that it beats no longer! It is accomplished! the 
deed is done! He retreats — retraces his steps to the 
window, passes through as he came in, and escapes. 
Ho has done the murder ; no eye has seen him, no ear 
has heard him ; the secret is his own, and he is safe ! 

Ah ! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a 
secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God 
has neither nook nor corner, where the guilty can bestow 
it and say it is safe. Not to speak of that Eye which 
glances through all disguises, and beholds everything as 
in the splendor of noon, — such secrets of guilt are never 
safe ; " murder will out." True it is that Providence 
hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those 
who break the great law of Heaven, by shedding man's 
blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially 
in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery 
must and Avill come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes 
turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every 
circumstance, connected .with the time and place ; a 
thousand ears catch every whisper ; a thousand excited 
minds intently dwell on the scene ; shedding all their 
light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance 
3 



34 



ATWELL S EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 



into a blaze of discovery. Meantime the guilty soul can- 
not keep its own secret. It is false to itself — or rather 
it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to 
itself — it labors under its guilty possession, and knows 
not what to do with it. The human heart was not made 
for the residence of such an inhabitant ; it finds itself 
preyed on by a torment which it dares not acknowledge 
to God or man. A vulture is devouring it, and it asks 
no sympathy or assistance either from heaven or earth. 
The secret which the murderer possesses soon comes to 
possess him ; and like the evil spirits of which we read, 
it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. 
He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and 
demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees 
it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its 
workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has be- 
come his .master ; — it betrays his discretion ; it breaks 
down his courage ; it conquers his prudence. "When 
suspicions, from without, begin to embarrass him, and 
the net of circumstances to entangle him, the fatal secret 
struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It 
must be confessed ; it will be confessed ; there is no 
refuge from confession but in suicide, and suicide is con- 
fession. 

Webster. 



VI. DISCOVERIES OF GALILEO. 



There are occasions in life in which a great mind 
lives years of rapt enjoyment in a moment. I can fancy 
the emotions of Galileo, when, first raising the newly- 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 35 

constructed telescope to the heavens, he saw fulfilled the 
grand prophecy of Copernicus, and beheld the planet 
Venus crescent like the moon. 

It was such another moment as that, when the immor- 
tal printers of Mentz and Strasburg received the first 
copy of the Bible into their hands, the work of their 
divine art ; like that, when Columbus, through the gray 
dawn of the 12th of October, 1492, beheld the shores of 
San Salvador ; like that, when the law of gravitation 
first revealed itself to the intellect of Newton ; like that, 
when Franklin saw, by the stiffening fibres of the hempen 
cord of his kite, that he held the lightning in his grasp ; 
like that, when Leverrier received back from Berlin the 
tidings that the predicted planet was found. 

Yes, uoble Galileo, thou art right. " It does move." 
Bigots may make thee recant it, but it moves, neverthe- 
less. Yes, the earth moves, and the planets move, and ' 
the mighty waters move, and the great sweeping tides 
of air move, and the empires of men move, and the 
world of thought moves, ever onward and upward, to 
higher facts and bolder theories. The Inquisition may 
seal thy lips, but they can no more stop the progress of 
the great truth propounded by Copernicus, and demon- 
strated by thee, than they can stop the revolving earth. 

Close, now, venerable sage, that sightless, tearful eye ; 
it has seen what man never before saw ; it has seen 
enough. Hang up that poor little spy-glass ; it lias done 
its work. Not Hcrschel nor Rosse has, comparatively, 
done more. Franciscans and Dominicans deride thy 
discoveries now, but the time will come when, from two 
hundred observatories in Europe and America, the glori- 
ous artillery of science shall nightly assault the skies ; 



36 ATWELl/s EPITOME OF ELOCUTION, 

but they shall gain no conquests in those glittering fields 
before which thine shall be forgotten. 

Hest in peace, great Columbus of the heavens ; — like 
him, scorned, persecuted, broken-hearted ! — in other 
ages, in distant hemispheres, when the votaries of sci- 
ence, with solemn acts of consecration, shall dedicate 
their stately edifices to the cause of knowledge and truth, 

thy name shall be mentioned with honor. 

Everett. 



VII. SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA. 

Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief 
who for twelve long years has met upon the arena every 
shape of man or beast the broad Empire of Rome could 
furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there 
be one among you who can say that ever, in public fight 
or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let 
him stand forth and say it. If there be three m all your 
company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them 
come on. And yet I was not always thus, — a hired 
butcher, a savage chief of still more savage men. My 
ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among the 
vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My 
early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported ; 
and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the 
shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a 
friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. 
"We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook to- 
gether our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 37 

were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle 
which shaded our cottage, my graudsire, an old man, 
was telling of Marathon and Leuctra ; and how, in 
ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the 
mountains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then 
know what war was ; but my cheeks burned, I knew not 
why, and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, 
until my mother, parting the hair from off my forehead, 
kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, 
and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. 
That very. night the Romans landed on our coast. I 
saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the 
hoof of the war-horse, — the bleeding body of my father 
flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwelling ! To- 
day I killed a man in the arena ; and, when I broke his 
hemlet-clasps, behold, he was my friend. He knew me, 
smiled faintly, gasped, and died ; — the same sweet smile 
upon his lips that I had marked, when, in adventurous 
boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe 
grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph ! I 
told the pragtor that the dead man had been my friend, 
generous and brave ; and I begged that I might bear 
away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn 
over its ashes. Ay ! upon my knees, amid the dust and 
blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all 
the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins 
they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, 
deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest 
gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of that piece 
of bleeding clay ! And the preetor drew back as I were 
pollution, and sternly said, " Let the carrion rot ; there 
are no noble men but Romans." And so, fellow-gladia- 



38 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

tors, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. O, Rome ! 
Rome ! thou hast beeu a tender uurse to me. Ay ! thou 
hast giveu to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who 
never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of 
iron and a heart of flint ; taught him to drive the sword 
through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and 
warm it in the marrow of his foe ; — to gaze into the 
glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a 
boy upon a laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee back, 
until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its 
deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled ! 

Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are ! The 
strength of brass is in your toughened sinews ; but to- 
morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume 
from his curly locks, shall with his lily Augers pat your 
red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. 
Hark ! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? 'Tis three 
days since he has tasted flesh ; but to-morrow he shall 
break his fast upon yours, — iind a dainty meal for him 
ye will be ! If ye are beasts, then stand here, like fat 
«oxen., waiting for the butcher's knife ! If ye are men, 
follow me 1 Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain 
passes, and then do bloody work, as did your sires at old 
Thermopylae!' Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian 
spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower 
like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash ? O, 
•comrades ! warriors ! Thracians ! if we must fight, let 
us fight for ourselves ! If we must slaughter, let us 
slaughter our oppressors! If we must die, let it be 
under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in noble, hon- 
orable battle ! 



SELECTIONS IN PROSE. 39 



VIII. HAMLET'S INSTRUCTIONS TO PLAYERS. 

Speak the speech, I pray yon, as I pronounced it to 
you, — trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, 
as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier 
spake my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with 
your hand thus, but use all gently ; for in the very tor- 
rent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your 
passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, that 
may give it smoothness. Oh ! it offends me to the soul,, 
to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion 
to tatters, — to very rags, — to split the ears of the 
groundlings ; who, for the most part, are capable of 
nothing but inexplicable dumb show and noise. I would! 
have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant : it 
out-herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it. 

Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion 
be your tutor. Suit the action to the word ; the word to- 
the action ; with this special observance — that you o'er- 
step not the modesty of nature : for anything so over- 
done is from the purpose of playing ; whose end, both at 
the first and now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the 
mirror up to nature ; — to show virtue her own feature ; 
scorn her own image ; and the very age and body of the 
time, his form and pressure. Now this, overdone or 
come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, can- 
not but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which 
one, must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre 
of others. Oh ! there be players, that I have seen play, 
and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it 



40 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, 
nor the gait of Christian, pagan, or man, have so strutted 
and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's jour- 
neymen had made men, and not made them well, — they 
imitated humanity so abominably ! 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 



I. THE CORAL GROVE. 

Deep in the wave is a coral grove, 
Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove, 
Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue 
That never are wet with the falling dew, 
But in bright and changeful beauty shine, 
Far down in the green and glassy brine. 
The floor is of sand like the mountain's drift, 

And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; 
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift 

Their boughs where the tides and billows flow. 

The water is calm and still below, 

For the winds and waves are absent there, 
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 

In the motionless fields of upper air ; 
There, with its waving blade of green, 

The sea-flag streams through the silent water,, 
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 

To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter. 
There, with a light and easy motion, 

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ;; 
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 

Are bending like corn on the upland lea. 

(41) 



42 ATWELl/s EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 

And life, in rare and beautiful forms, 

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, 
And is safe, where the wrathful spirit of storms 

Has made the top of the wave his own : 
And when the ship from his fury flies, 

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, 
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, 

And demons are waiting the wreck on the shore, 
Then, far below, in the peaceful sea, 

The purple mullet and gold-fish rove : 
There the waters murmur tranquilly 

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. 

J. G. Percival. 






II. INFELICISSIME. 

I stand upon the hoary mountains of old Time, 

God's stern and sleepless sentinels, that loom 
In shadowy dimness, silent and sublime, 

Through bending clouds of glory and of gloom. 
I see around me shapes of rare device, 

Domes, minarets, and towers 
Of Nature's own contriving ; and soft bowers 
Of interwoven branches, vines, and flowers, 
Through which trip lightly the impassioned Hours. 

I hear the gushing melody of birds, 
The dash of dancing waters, and the deep, 
Low murmurs of the winds, that creep 

Into my soul, like music without words ; 
I stand in Paradise ! 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 43 

And lo ! two beings, young, and beautiful 
Beyond the poet's most enraptured dream, 
Glide through the mazes : resting now to cull 
Sweet tinted flowers that fringe a silver stream, 
Or clustering fruits that in the sunlight gleam ; 
And all the while their voices fill the air 
With swelling anthems to the Great Supreme, 
And all the while, in peace, they wander there, 
God-loving and beloved, without or grief or care. 

The charm is broken ! from a distant hill, 
I see the Serpent take his subtle way, 
To where, all dreamless of the coming ill, 
The doomed pair in happy converse stray ; 
And now, with secret art, he holds his prey, 
And now enfolds them like a tongue of flame ; 
With charmed words he leadeth them astray, 
Till, all forgetful of the Master's claim, 
They do the deed of sin, and hide themselves in shame. 

I read, in holy verse, 

Their everlasting curse ! 
" Thou shalt bring forth in pain, 
And live in sorrow, and toil in vain, 
And thistles reap, and thorns, instead of grain, 
And down thy brow shall sweat-drops roll like rain." 

That curse has had no death ; we are brought forth in 
pain, 
And all the pathway of our checkered years 
Is strewn with ashes and remorseful tears, 

Till, in the midst of grief, we yield our breath again. 






44 ATWELI/S EPITOME OF ELOCtJTlON. 

Yes ! the world is full of sorrow 

And dismay ; 
Joy lives always in to-raorrow ! 

Pain 5 to-day ! 

Sweet phantoms rise, to cheer our bleak existence, 
And lure us onward with uplifted hands ; 

We follow, and they fade into the distance, 
As fades the mirage upon desert sands. 

What boots it, that the earth makes show of joy ? 

That roses bloom, and trees grow green in spring, 
That the soft grass springs up without annoy, 
That skies are blue, and birds forever sing? 

There are more Aveeds than flowers, — 

More sad than sunny hours. ! 

And though the leaves be musical, 

They all must wither soon, and fall ! 

And though, the green grass waves, 

Down under it are graves ! 

And, alas ! they have no souls, 
Those little birds, whose melody so rolls. 

What boots it, that we ring the merry laugh, 

Sing the song, and crack the jest? 
That we seek love, deem kisses more than chaff, 

Or hold pleasure worth the quest? 
And what boots it, that some glide 

Through the world with little care? 
And what boots it, that the bride 

Is so jubilant and fair? 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 45 

The pleasures that we follow, 
Like our laugh, is hollow, hollow 
As a bell 
That now rings us to a wedding, with a chime ; 
And now buries us in sorrow for a time, 
With a knell ! 

And the jest seldom slips, 

But it strikes a tender chord ! 
And a kiss was on the lips 

Of the wretch who sold his Lord ! 
Do you sing ? — the sweetest songs 
Tell of sorrows and of wrongs. 
Do you love ? — perfect love 
Only lives in realms above, 

And the careless are the light, — 
Light of heart and light of head : 

And ye robe the bride in white, 
And in white ye shroud the dead. 



III. A LEGEND. 

Upon a rock that, high and sheer, 
Rose from the mountain's breast ■ 

A weary hunter of the deer 
Had sat him down to rest, 

And bared, to the soft, summer air, 

His hot red brow and sweaty hair. 



46 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

All dim iu haze the mountains lay, 

With dimmer vales between, 
And rivers glimmered on their way 

By forests, faintly seen ; 
While ever rose a murmuring sound 
From brooks below and bees around. 

He listened, till he seemed to hear 

A voice so soft and low, 
That whether in the mind or ear, 

The listener scarce might know ; 
With such a tone, so sweet and mild, 
The watching mother lulls her child. 

" Thou weary huntsman," — thus it said, — 
" Though faint with toil and heat ! 

The pleasant land of rest is spread 
Before thy very feet ; 

And those whom thou would gladly see 

Are waiting there to welcome thee." 

He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky, 

Amidst the noontide haze, 
A shadowy region met his eye, 

And grew beneath his gaze, 
As if the vapors of the air 
Had gathered into shapes so fair. 

Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers 
Showed bright on rocky bank, 

And fountains welled beneath the bowers, 
Where deer and pheasant drank. 

He saw the glittering streams ; he heard 

The rustling bough and twittering bird. 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 47 

And friends, —the dead, — in boyhood dear, 

There lived, and walked again ; 
And there was one who many a year 

"Within her grave had lain — 
A fair young girl, the region's pride : 
His heart was breaking when she died. 

Bounding as was her wont, she came 

Eight toward his resting-place, 
And stretched her hand, and called his name, 

With sweet and smiling face : 
Forward, with fixed and eager eyes, 
The hunter leaned in act to rise. 

Forward he leaned, and headlong down 

Plunged from that craggy wall ; 
He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown, 

An instant, in his fall — 
A fearful instant, and no more : 
The dream and life at once were o'er. 

W. C. Bryant. 



IV. MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY. 

If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
It were done quickly. If the assassination 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
With his surcease, success ! That but this blow 
Might be the be-all, and the end-all, here — 
Bnt here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 



ATWELL S EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 

We'd jump the life to come. But, iu these cases, 

We still have judgment here, that we but teach 

Bloody instructions, which, beiug taught, return 

To plague the inventor. This even-handed justice 

Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice 

To our own lips. He's here in double trust : 

First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, — 

Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, 

Who should against his murderer shut the door, 

Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 

Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 

80 clear in his great office, that his virtues 

Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 

The deep damnation of his taking-off; 

And Pity, like a naked, new-born ba"be, 

Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubims 

Horsed upon the sightless couriers of the air, 

Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 

That tears shall drown the wind. 

I have no spur 

To prick the sides of my intent, but only 

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, 

And falls on the other side. 

Shakspeaee. 



V. MERCY. 



The quality of mercy is not strained j 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice blessed ; 
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes : 



SELECTIONS IX POETRY. 49 

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 

The throned monarch better than his crown : 

His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 

The attribute of awe and majesty, 

"Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 

But mercy is above the sceptred sway ; 

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 

It is an attribute to God himself; 

And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 

When mercy seasons justice : therefore, Jew, 

Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 

That in the course of justice, none of us 

Should see salvation. No, we do pray for mercy ; 

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 

The deeds of mercy ; I have spoke thus much 

To mitigate the justice of thy plea. 

Shakspeare. 



VI. SPEECH OF CAIUS GRACCHUS. 

O Rome, my country ! O my mother, Rome ! 
Is it to shed thy blood I draw my sword? 
To fill thy matrons' and thy daughters' eyes 
With tears, and drain the spirits of thy sons? 
Should I not rather turn it 'gainst myself, 
And, by the timely sacrifice of one, 
Preserve the many? They will not let me do it ; 
They take from the rule of mine own acts, 
And make me freedom's slave ! What ! is it so? 
Come, then, the only virtue that is left me, — 
4 



50 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

The fatal virtue of necessity. 

Upon them ! — 

Give them stout hearts, ye gods ! to enable them 

To stand the flashing of their tyrants' swords ; 

Deaf to the din of battle let them be ; 

Senseless to wounds, and without eyes for blood ; — 

That for this once they may belie themselves, 

Make tyranny to cower, and from her yoke 

Lift prostrate Liberty, to fall no more. 

J. Sheridan Knowles. 



VII. THANATOPSIS. 

To him who, in the love of Nature, holds 

Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 

A various language : for his gayer hours 

She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 

And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 

Into his darker musings, with a mild 

And gentle sympathy, that steals away 

Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 

Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 

Over thy spirit, and sad images 

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 

And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 

Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart, — 

Go forth under the open sky, and list 

To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 

Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 

Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee 

The all-beholdinsr sun shall see no more 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 



51 



In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 

Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 

Thy growth, to he resolved to earth again ; 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 

Thine individual being, shalt thou go 

To mix forever with the elements ; 

To be a brother to the insensible rock, 

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 

Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 

Yet not to thy eternal resting-place 

Shalt thou retire alone — nor couldst thou wish 

Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 

With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, 

The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 

Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 

All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, 

Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun ; the vales 

Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 

The venerable woods ; rivers that move 

In majesty, and the complaining brooks, 

That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 

Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 

Are but the solemn decorations all 

Of the great tomb of man ! The golden sun, 

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 

The globe are but a handful to the tribes 

That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 

Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 



52 



ATWELL S EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 



Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, 
Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ! 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone ! — 
So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou shalt fall 
Unnoticed by the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
"Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
"When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, aud shall come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men — 
The youth In life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles 
And beauty of its innocent age cut off — , 
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side, 
By those who in their turn shall follow them. 






So live, that when thy summons comes, to join 
The innumerable caravan, that moves 
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 

Bryant. 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 5$ 



VIII. MARCO BOZZARIS. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
Wheu Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power: 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring ; 
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king : 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden bird. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood, 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood, 

On old Platrea's day ; 
And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there, 
With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far as they. 

An hour passed on — the Turk awoke r 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, 
" To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! "" 



54 atwell's epttome of elocution. 

He woke — to die 'midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
u Strike — till the last armed foe expires ; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires ; 

God — and your native land ! " 



They fought like brave men, long and well ; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their proud huzza, 

And the red field was won ; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, death ! 

Come to the mother's, when she feels, 
For the first time, her first-born's breath ; 

Come when the blessed seals 
That close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wait its stroke ; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form ; 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 
Come when the heart beats high and warm, 

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine ; 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 55 

And thou art terrible. The tear, 

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 

And all we know, or dream, or fear 

Of agony, are thine. 
But to the hero, when his sword 

Has Avon the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 
Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 

We tell thy doom without a sigh ; 

For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's ; 

One of the few, the immortal names, 

That were not born to die. 

Halleck. 



IX. THE SAILOK BOY'S DREAM. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay, 

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ; 

But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; 

While Memory stood sidewise, half covered with flowers, 
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 



56 at well's epitome of elocution. 

Then Fancy, her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise : 

Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, 

And the swallow sings sweet from her uest in the wall ; 

All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, 

His cheek is impearlcd with a mother's warm tear ; 

And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast ; 

Joy quickens his pulse — all hardships seem o'er ; 
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest : 

■-" Kind Fate, thou hast blessed me ; I ask for no more." 

Ah ! what is that flame which now bursts on his eye? 

Ah ! what is that sound which now larums his ear? 
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky ! 

'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere ! 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck — 
Amazement confronts him with images dire — 

"Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel awreck — 
The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire ! 

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell — 
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save ; 

Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 

And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave I 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 57 

O sailor-boy ! woe to thy dream of delight ! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; 
Where now is the pieture that Fancy touched bright, 

Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss? 

O sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! never again 

Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay ; 

Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, 
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge ; 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, 
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge ! 

On beds of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid ; 

Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ; 
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made ; 

And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, 
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll : 

Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye : 

O sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! peace to thy soul ! 

DlMOND. 



X. MISCELLANEOUS. 

O, hark ! what mean those yells and cries? 

His chain some furious madman breaks ! 
He comes ! I see his glaring eyes ! 

Now, now my dungeon grate he shakes ! 



58 atwell'3 epitome of elocution. 

Help ! help ! — lie's gone ! O, fearful woe, 

Such screams to hear, such sights to see I 

My brain, my braiu ! I know,. I know 

I am not mad — but soon shall be ! 

51. G. Lewis. 



Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again ! 

I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 

To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 

A spirit in your echoes answer me, 

And bid your tenant welcome to his home. 

J. S. Knowles. 



Hush ! 'tis a holy hour ! the quiet room 

Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds 

A faint and starry radiance through the gloom, 

And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, 

With all their clustering locks untouched by .care, 

And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night, in prayer. 

B. Bakton. 



The auctioneer, then, in his labor began, 

And called out aloud, as he held up a man, 

" How much for a bachelor? Who wants to buy?' 

In a twiuk, every maiden responded, "I — I ! " 

In short, at a hugely extravagant price, 

The bachelors all were sold off in a trice, 

And forty old maidens — some younger, some older 

Each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder. 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 59 

O men, with sisters dear ! 

O men, with mothers and wives! 
It is not linen you're wearing out, 

But human creatures' lives ! 
Stitch — stitch — stitch, 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 

Sewing at once, with a douhle thread, 

A shroud as well as a shirt ! 

Hood. 



XI. THE CHAMELEON. 

Oft has it been my lot to mark 
A proud, conceited, talking spark, 
With eyes that hardly served at most 
To guard their master 'gainst a post ; 
Yet round the world the blade has been, 
To see whatever could be seen. 
Returning from his finished tour, 
Grown ten times perter than before, 
Whatever word you chance to drop, 
The travelled fool your mouth will stop : 
" Sir, if my judgment you'll allow — 
I've seen — and sure I ought to know" — 
So begs you'd pay a due submission, 
And acquiesce in his decision. 

Two travellers of such a cast, 
As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed, 
And on their way, in friendly chat, 
Now talked of this, and then of that, 



60 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

Discoursed a while, 'mongst other matter, 
Of the chameleon's form and nature. 
U A stranger animal," cries one, 
" Sure never lived beneath the sun : 
A lizard's body, lean and long, 
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue ; 
Its foot with triple claw disjoined, 
And what a length of tail behind ! 
How slow its pace ! and then its hue — 
Who ever saw so fine a blue ? " 

" Hold, there," the other quick replies, 
" 'Tis green — I saw it with these eyes, 
As late with open mouth it lay, 
And warmed it in the sunny ray ; 
Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed, 
And saw it eat the air for food." 
" I've seen it, sir, as well as you, 
And must again affirm it blue : 
At leisure I the beast surveyed 
Extended in the cooling shade." 

" 'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye ! " 
" Green ! " cries the other in a fury ; 
"Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes?" 
" 'Twere no great loss," the friend replies ; 
" For, if they always serve you thus, 
You'll find them but of little use." 
So high at last the contest rose, 
From words they almost came to blows ; 
When luckily came by a third : 
To him the question they referred, 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 61 

And begged he'd tell them, if he knew, 
Whether the thing was green or blue. 

" Sir," cries the umpire, " cease your pother ; 

The creature's neither one nor t'other ; 

I caught the animal last night, 

And viewed it o'er by candle-light : 

I marked it well — 'twas black as jet : 

You stare — but, sirs, I've got it yet, 

And can produce it." " Pray, sir, do ; 

I'll lay my life the thing is blue." 

" And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen 

The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." 

" Well, then, at once to ease the doubt," 

Replies the man, " I'll turn him out ; 

And when before your eyes I've set him, 

If you don't find him black, I'll eat him." 

He said, then full before their sight 

Produced the beast, and lo ! 'twas white ! 

Both stared ; the man looked wondrous wise : 

" My children," the chameleon cries 

(Then first the creature found a tongue) , 

" You all are right, and all are wrong : 

When next you talk of what you view, 

Think others see as well as you ; 

Nor wonder if you find that none 

Prefers your eyesight to his own." 

Merrick. 



XII. THE THREE WARNINGS. 

The tree of deepest root is found 
Least willing still to quit the ground ; 
'Tvvas therefore said by ancient sages, 

That love of life increased with years 
So much, that in our later stages, 
When pains grow sharp and sickness rages, 

The greatest love of life appears. 
This strange affection to believe, 
Which all confess, but few perceive, 
If old assertion can't prevail, 
Be pleased to hear a modern tale : 
When sports went round, and all were gay, 
On neighbor Dobson's wedding-day, 
Death called aside the jocund groom 
With him into another room ; 
And looking grave, " You must," says he, 
" Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." 
" With you, and quit my Susan's side ! 
With you ! " the hapless husband cried ; 
" Young as I am ! 'tis monstrous hard ! 
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared : 
My thoughts on other matters go ; 
This is my wedding-night, you know." 

What more he urged I have not heard ; 

His reasons could not well be stronger : 
So Death the poor delinquent spared, 

And left to live a little longer. 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 63 

Yet, calling up a serious look, — 

His hour-glass trembled while he spoke, — 

" Neighbor," he said, " farewell : no more 

Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour : 

And further, to avoid all blame 

Of cruelty upon my name, > 

To give you time for preparation, 

And fit you for your future station, 

Three several warnings you shall have, 

Before you're summoned to the grave : 

Willing for once, I'll quit my prey, 

And grant a kind reprieve, 
In hopes you'll have no more to say, 
But, when I call again this way, 

Well pleased the world will leave." 
To these conditions both consented, 
And parted perfectly contented. 

What next the hero of our tale befell, 
How long he lived, how wise, how well, 

How roundly he pursued his course, 

And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse, 
The willing muse shall tell : 

He chaffered then, he bought, he sold, 

Nor once perceived his growing old, 
Nor thought of death as near ; 

His friends not false, his wife no shrew, 

Many his gains, his children few, 

He passed his hours in peace ; 

But while he viewed his wealth increase! 

While thus along life's dusty road 

The beaten track content he trod, 



64 



ATWELL S EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 



Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, 
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares, 
Brought on his eightieth year. 

And now, one night, in musing mood, 
As all alone he sate, 
Th' unwelcome messenger of Fate 

Once more before him stood. 

Half killed with anger and surprise, 
" So soon returned ! " old Dobson cries. 
" So soon, d'ye call it? " Death replies : 
" Surely, my friend, you're but in jest ; 

Since I was here before 
'Tis six and thirty years at least, 

And you are now fourscore." 
" So much the worse," the clown rejoined ; 
" To spare the aged would be kind : 
Besides, you promised me three warnings, 
Which I have looked for nights and mornings 
But, for that loss of time and ease, 
I can recover damages." 

" I know," cries Death, u that, at the best, 

I seldom am a welcome guest. 

But don't be captious, friend, at least ; 

I little thought you'd still be able 

To stump about your farm and stable ; 

Your years have run to a great length ; 

I wish you joy, though, of your strength." 

" Hold," says the farmer, " not so fast ; 

I have been lame these four years past." 

" And no great wonder," Death replies ; 

" However, you still keep your eyes ; 






iM* 



SELECTIONS IX POETRY. 65 

And sure to see one's loves and friends 
For legs and arms would make amends." 
" Perhaps," says Dobson, " so it might, 
But latterly I've lost my sight." 

" This is a shocking story, faith ; 

Yet there's some comfort still," says Death : 

" Each strives your sadness to amuse ; 

I warrant you hear all the news." 

" There's none," cries he ; " and, if there were, 

I'm grown so deaf I could not hear." 

" Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined, 

" These are unjustifiable yearnings ; 
If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, 

You've had your three sufficient warnings. 

So come along ; no more we'll part." 

He said, and touched him with his dart : 

And now old Dobson, turning pale, 

Yields to his fate — so ends my tale. 

Mrs. Thrale. 



XIIL THE SMACK IN SCHOOL* 

A district school, not far away, 
'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day,, 
Was humming with its wonted noise 
Of threescore mingled girls and boys ;. 
Some few upon their tasks intent, 
But more on furtive mischief bent. 
The while the master's downward look 
Was fastened on a copy-book, 



66 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

When suddenly, behind his back, 

Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack ! 

As 'twere a battery of bliss 

Let off in one tremendous kiss ! 

"What's that?" the startled master cries, 

" That, thir," a little imp replies, 

" Wath William Willith, if you pleathe : 

I thaw him kith Thuthannah Peathe ! " 

With frown to make a statue thrill 

The master thundered, "Hither, Will!" 

Like wretch o'ertaken in his track 

With stolen chattels on his back, 

Will hung his head in fear and shame, 

And to the awful presence came, — 

A great, green, bashful simpleton, 

The butt of all good-natured fun. 

With smile suppressed and birch upraised, 

The threatener faltered, " I'm amazed 

That you, my biggest pupil, should 

Be guilty of an act so rude ! 

Before the whole set school, to boot ! 

What evil genius put you to't? " 

" 'Twas she herself, sir," sobbed the lad ; 

44 1 did not mean to be so bad ; 

But when Susannah shook her curls, 

And whispered I was 'fraid of girls, 

And dursn't kiss a baby's doll, 

I couldn't stand it, sir, at all, 

But up and kissed her on the spot ! 

I know — boo-hoo — I ought to not ; 

But, somehow, from her looks — boo-hoo — 

I thought she kind o' wished me to ! " 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 67 



XIV. THE VAGABONDS. 



We are two travellers, Roger and I. 

Roger's my dog : — ■ come here, you scamp ! 
Jump for the gentlemen, — mind your eye ! 

Over the table, — look out for the lamp ! — 
The rogue is growing a little old ; 

Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, 
And slept out doors when nights were cold, 

And ate, and drank, and starved together. 

We've learned what comfort is, I tell you ! — 

A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, 
A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow ! 

The paw he holds up there's been frozen), 
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle 

(This out-door business is bad for strings), 
Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, 

And Roger and I set up for kings ! 

No, thank ye, sir ; I never drink. 

Roger and I are exceedingly moral — 
Aren't we, Roger? See him wink ! 

Well, something hot, then ; we won't quarrel. 
He's thirsty, too ; see him nod his head ! 

What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk ! 
He understands every word that's said, 

And he knows good milk from water and chalk. 



68 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

The truth is, sir, now I reflect, 

I've been so sadly given to grog, 
I wonder I've not lost the respect 

(Here's to you, sir !) even of my dog. 
But he sticks by through thick and thin ; 

And this old coat, with its empty pockets, 
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, 

He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. 

We'll have some music, if you're willing, 

And Roger (hem ! what a plague a cough is, sir !) 
Shall march a little. Start, you villain ! 

Stand straight ! 'Bout face ! Salute your officer ! 
Put up that paw ! Dress ! Take your rifle ! 

(Some dogs have arms, you see !) Now hold your 
Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle 

To aid a poor old patriot soldier. 

March ! Halt ! Now show how the rebel shakes 

When he stands up to hear his sentence. 
Now tell us how many drams it takes 

To honor a jolly new acquaintance. 
Five yelps ; that's five ; he's mighty knowing ! 

The night's before us ; fill the glasses ! 
Quick, sir ! I'm ill, — my brain is going ! — 

Some brandy, — thank you, — there ! — it passes ! 

Why not reform? That's easily said ; 

But I've gone through such wretched treatment, 
Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, 

And scarce remembering what meat meant, 
That my poor stomach's past reform ; 

And there are times when, mad with thinking, 



sm 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 69 

I'd sell out heaven for something warm 
To prop a horrible inward sinking. 

Is there a way to forget to think ? 

At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, 
A dear girl's love ; but I took to drink : 

The same old story ; you know how it ends. 
If you could have seen these classic features, — 

You needn't laugh, sir ; they were not then 
Such a burning libel on God's creatures : 

I was one of your handsome men ! 

If you had seen her, so fair and young, 

Whose head was happy on this breast ! 
If you could have heard the songs I sung 

When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed 
That ever I, sir, should be straying 

From door to door, with fiddle and dog, 
Ragged and penniless, and playing 

To you to-night for a glass of grog ! 

She's married since, — a parson's wife : 

'Twas better for her that we should part, — 
Better the soberest, prosiest life 

Than a blasted home and a broken heart. 
I have seen her ? Once : I was weak and spent 

On the dusty road ; a carriage stopped : 
But she little dreamed, as on she went, 

Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped ! 

You've set me talking, sir ; I'm sorry ; 

It makes me wild to think of the change ! 
What do you care for a beggar's story? 

Is it amusing? you find it strange? 



70 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

I had a mother so proud of me ! 

'Twas well she died before — Do you know 
If the happy spirits in heaven can see 

The ruin and wretchedness here below? 

Another glass, and strong, to deaden 

This pain ; then Roger and I Avill start. 
I wonder has he such a lumpish, leaden, 

Aching thing, in place of a heart? 
He is sad sometimes, and would weep if he could, 

No doubt, remembering things that were, — 
A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, 

And himself a sober, respectable cur. 

I'm better now ; that glass was warming. 

You rascal, limber your lazy feet ! 
We must be fiddling and performing 

For supper and bed, or starve in the street. 
Not a very gay life to lead, you think? 

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, 
And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink ; 






The sooner the better for Roger and me ! 



Trowbridge. 



XV. THE RAZOR-SELLER. 

A fellow, in a market-town, 

Most musical, cried razors, up and down, 

And offered twelve for eighteen pence ; 
Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap, 
And, for the money, quite a heap, 

That every man would buy with cash and sense. 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 71 

A country bumpkin the great offer heard ; 

Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad, black beard, 
That seemed a shoe-brush, stuck beneath his nose. 

With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he paid, 

And proudly to himself in whispers said, 
" This rascal stole the razors, I suppose. 

" No matter if the fellow be a knave, 

Provided that the razors shave ; 
It certainly will be a monstrous prize.'* 

So home the clown with his good fortune went, 

Smiling, in heart and soul content, 
And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes. 

Being well lathered from a dish or tub, 

Hodge now began, with grinning pain, to grub, 
Just like a hedger cutting furze : 

'Twas a vile razor ! then the rest he tried ; 

All were impostors. " Ah ! " Hodge sighed, 
'♦* I wish my eighteen pence was in my purse." 

In vain, to chase his beard and bring the graces, 

He cut, and dug, and whined, and stamped, and swore, 

Brought blood and danced, blasphemed and made wry faces, 
And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er. 
His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff, 
Firm' as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff; 

So kept it, laughing at the steel and suds. 

Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws, 
Vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws, 
On the vile cheat that sold the goods. 
" Razors ! a vile, confounded dog ! 
Not fit to scrape a hog ! " 



72 



ATWELL S EPITOME OF ELOCUTION 



Hodge sought the fellow, found him, aud begun: 
" P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue ! to you 'tis fun 

That people flay themselves out of their lives. 
You rascal ! for an hour have I been grubbing, 
Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing 

With razors just like oyster knives. 
Sirrah ! I tell you, "you're a knave 
To cry up razors that can't shave." 

" Friend," quoth the razor-man, " I'm not a knave. 

As for the razors you have bought, 

Upon my soul, I never thought 
That they would shave I " 

" Not think they'd shave ! " quoth Hodge, with wondering 
eyes, 
And voice not much unlike an Indian yell ; 
"What were they made for, then, you dog?" he cries. 
" Made? " quoth the fellow, with a smile — " to sell." 

Walcot. 



XVI. MISCELLANEOUS. 



TIME NOT TO BE FwECALLED. 



Mark that swift arrow, how it cuts the air, — 

How it outruns the following eye! 

Use all persuasions now, and try 
If thou canst call it back, or stay it there. 

That way it went ; but thou shalt find 

No track is left behind. 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 73 

Fool ! 'tis thy life, aud the fond archer thou ! 

Of all the time thou'st shot away, 

I'll bid thee fetch but yesterday, 
And it shall be too hard a task to do. 

Besides repentance, what canst find 

That it hath left behind ? 



REASONS FOR HUMILITY. 

One part, one little part, we dimly scan, 

Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream, 

Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, 

If but that little part incongruous seem ; 

Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem. 

Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise : 

0, then renounce that impious self-esteem 

That aims to trace the secrets of the skies ; 

For thou art but of dust. Be humble and be wise. 

Beattie. 



SEEING AND NOT SEEING. 

The one with yawning made reply : 
" What have we seen ? Not much have I ! 
Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams, 
Blue sky and clouds, and sunny gleams." 

The other, smiling, said the same ; 
But with face transfigured and eye of flame : 
"Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams! 
Blue sky and clouds, and sunny gleams ! " 

C. T. Brooks. 



74 



ATWELL S EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 



HAMLET TO HIS MOTHER. 



Look here, upon this picture, and on this ; 

The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 

See what a grace was seated on this brow : — 

Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself; 

An eye like Mars', to threaten and command; 

A station like the herald Mercury, 

New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 

A combination, and a form, indeed, 

Where every god did seem to set his seal, 

To give the world assurance of a man. 

This was your husband. Look you, now, what follows 

Here is your husband ; like a mildewed ear, 

Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? 

Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 

And batten on this moor? Ha ! have you eyes? 

You cannot call it love, for at your age 

The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble, 

And waits upon the judgment ; and what judgment 

Would step from this to this? 

Shakspkark. 



CATILINE S DEFIANCE. 



Banished from Rome ! What's banished but set free 
From daily contact of the things I loathe ? 
" Tried and convicted traitor ! " Who says this? 
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head? 
Banished ? I thank you for't. It breaks my chain ! 



HHHHHB ^ HBHHHBHI ^ HHMHHHMHBBHIHHBBH I^ HHHHHI 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 75 

I held some slack allegiance till this hour ; 

But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords ! 

I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 

Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 

I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 

To leave you in your lazy dignities. 

But here I stand and scoff you : — here I fling 

Hatred and full defiance in your face. 



XVII. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 

Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 

" Forward, the Light Brigade ! 

Charge for the guns ! " he said : 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 

" Forward, the Light Brigade ! " 
Was there a man dismayed? 

Not though the soldiers knew 
Some one had blundered : 

Theirs not to make reply, 

Theirs not to reason why, 

Theirs but to do and die, 

Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 



76 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left, of them, 
Cannon in front of them 

Volleyed and thundered ; 
Stormed at with shot and shell 
Boldly they rode and well ; 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell, 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flashed all these sabres bare, 
Flashed as they turned in air, 
Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 
All the world wondered. 

Plunged in the battery smoke, 
Eight through the line they broke ; 
Cossack and Hussian 
Reeled from the sabre stroke 

Shattered and sundered. 
Then they rode back, — but not, 

Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them, 

Volleyed and thundered. 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well 
Came through the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of Hell, 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 77 

All that was left of them — 
Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade? 

O, the wild charge they made ! 

All the world wondered. 

Honor the charge they made, 

Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred. 

Tennyson. 



XVIII. THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. 

Tread softly — bow the head; 

In reverent silence bow ; 
No passing bell doth toll, 
Yet an immortal soul 

Is passing now. 

Stranger ! however great, 
With lowly reverence bow; 
. There's one in that poor shed, 
One by that paltry bed, 
Greater than thou. 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 

Lo ! Death doth keep his state ; 

Enter — no crowds attend ; 

Enter — no guards defend 
This palace gate. 



78 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

That pavement, damp and cold, 
No smiling courtiers tread ; 

One silent woman stands, 

Lifting with meagre hands 
A dying head. 

No mingling voices sound — 

An infant wail alone ; 
A sob suppressed — again 
That short, deep gasp, and then 

The parting groan. 

O, change ! — O, wondrous change ! «— 
Burst are the prison bars — 

This moment there, so low, 

So agonized, and now 
Beyond the stars ! 

O, change — stupendous change! 

There lies the soulless clod ! 
The sun eternal breaks — 
The new immortal wakes — 

Wakes with his God ! 






Southet. 



XIX. POSTHUMOUS FAME. 

This honest soul 
Would fain look cheery in my house's gloom ; 
And, like a gay and sturdy evergreen, 



SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 79 

Smiles in the midst of blast and desolation, 

Where all around him withers. Well, well, wither ! 

Perish this frail and fickle frame, — this clay, 

That, in its dross-like compound, cloth contain 

The mind's pure ore and essence ! O, that mind — 

That mind of man ! that godlike spring of action ! 

That source whence learning, virtue, honor, flow ! 

Which lifts us to the stars ; which carries us 

O'er the swollen waters of the angry deep, 

As swallows skim the air ! Thou, fame's sole fountain, 

That doth transmit a fair and spotless name, 

When the vile trunk is rotten. Give me this — 

O, give me but to live in after age 

Remembered and unsullied ! Heaven and earth ! 

Let my pure flame of honor shine in story, 

When I am cold in death, and the slow fire 

That wears my vitals now, will no more move me, 

Than 'twould a corse within a monument. 

Col man. 



XX. ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER. 

Will Wag went to see Charley Quirk, 

More famed for his books than his learning, 

In order to borrow a work 

He had sought for in vain over college. 

But Charley replied, " My dear friend, 

You must know I have sworn and agreed, 

My books from my room not to lend, — 
But you may sit by my fire and read" 



80 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

Now it happened, by chance, on the morrow, 
That Quirk, with a cold, quivering air, 

Came his neighbor Will's bellows to borrow, 
For his own, they were out of repair. 

But Willy replied, " My dear friend, 

I have sworn and agreed, you must know, 

That my bellows I never will lend, — 
But you may sit at my fire and blow." 



Mrs. Gilman. 






XXI. DRIVING HOME THE COWS. 

Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass, 
lie turned them into the river-lane ; 

One after another he let them pass, 
Then fastened the meadow bars again. 

Under the willows and over the hill, 
He patiently followed their sober pace ; 

The merry whistle for once was still, 

And something shadowed the sunny face. 

Only a boy ! and his father had said 
He never could let his youngest go : 

Two already were lying dead 

Under the feet of the trampling foe. 

But after the evening work was done, 

And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, 
Over his shoulder he slung his gun, 

And stealthily followed the foot-path damp, — 






SELECTIONS IN POETRY. 81 

Across the clover and through the wheat, 
With resolute heart and purpose grim, 

Though cold was the dew ou his hurrying feet, 
And the blind bats flitting startled him. 

Thrice since then had the lanes been white, 
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom ; 

And now, when the cows came back at night, 
The feeble father drove them home. 

For news had come to the lonely farm 

That three were lying where two had lain, 

And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm 
Could never lean on a son's again. 

The summer day grew cool and late ; 

He went for the cows when the work was done ; 
But down the lane, as he opened the gate, 

He saw them coming, one by one,- — 

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, 

Shaking their horns in the evening wind, 

Cropping the buttercups out of the grass ; 
But who was it following close behind? 

Loosely swang in the idle air 

The empty sleeve of warrior true ; 
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair, 

Looked out a face that the father knew ; — 

For gloomy prisons will sometimes yawn, 

And yield their dead unto life again ; 
And that day that comes with a cloudy dawn 

In golden glory at last may wane. 
6 



82 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes ; 

For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb, 
And under the silent evening skies 

Together they followed the cattle home. 






SELECTIONS IN DIALOGUES 



I. A SCENE FROM "AS YOU LIKE IT." 

The Duke (ivith Attendants), Jaques and Touchstone. 

Touchstone. [Entering, to the Duke, &c] Salutation 
and greeting to you all. 

Jaques. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the 
motley-miuded geutlemau that I have so often met in the 
forest ; he hath been a courtier — he swears. 

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my 
purgation. I have trod a measure ; I have flattered a 
lady ; I have been politic, have undone three tailors ; I 
had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. 

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? 

Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was 
upon the seventh cause. 

Jaq. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like you 
this fellow ? 

Duke. I like him very well. 

Touch. God 'ild you, sir : I desire you of the like. I 
press in here, sir, among the rest, to swear and to for- 
swear, with a poor damsel, sir, an ill-favored one, — 
a poor humor of mine, sir, to take that no man else 

(83) 



84 atwkll's epitome of elocution. 

will. But rich honesty dwells, like a raiser, sir, in. a 
poor house, — as your pearl in a foul oyster. 

Duke. By ray faith, he is very swift and sententious. 

Jaq. But for the seventh cause: how did you find 
the quarrel upon the seventh cause? 

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed ; as thus, sir : 
I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard ; he sent 
me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in 
the mind it was : this is called the Retort courteous. If 
I sent him word again, it was not well cut, he would 
send me word, he cut it to please himself: this is called 
the Quip modest. If, again, it was not well cut, he dis- 
abled my judgment : this is called the Reply churlish. 
If, again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake 
not true : this is called the Reproof valiant. If, again, 
it was not well cut, he would say, I lie : this is called the 
Countercheck quarrelsome ; and so to the Lie circum- 
stantial, and the Lie direct. 

Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not 
well cut? 

Touch. I durst go no farther than the Lie circum- 
stantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie direct ; and so 
we measured swords aud parted. 

Jaq. Can you nominate in order, now, the degrees 
of the lie? 

Touch. O, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book ; 
as you have books for good manners. I will name you 
the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous ; the second, 
the Quip modest ; the third, the Reply churlish ; the 
fourth, the Reproof valiant ; the fifth, the Countercheck 
quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie with circumstance ; 
the seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may avoid 



SELECTIONS IN DIALOGUES. 85 

but the Lie direct ; and you may avoid that, too, with an 
If. I knew when seven justices could not make up a 
quarrel ; but when the parties were met themselves, one 
of them thought but of an If, as, " If you said so, then 
I said so ; " and they shook hands, and were sworn 
brothers. Your If is the only peacemaker ; much vir- 
tue in an If. 

Jaa. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good 
at anything, and yet a fool. 

Duke. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse ; and 

under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. 

Shakspeare. 



II. WILLIAM TELL. 

Gesler, the Tyrant; Sarnem, his Officer; and William 
Tell, a Swiss peasant. 

Sarnem. Down, slave, upon thy knees, before the 
governor, 
And beg for mercy. 

Gesler. Does he hear? 

Sar. He does, but braves thy power. [To Tell.] 
Down, slave, 
And ask for life. 

Ges. [To Tell.] Why speakest thou not? 

Tell. For wonder ! 

Ges. Wonder ? 

Tell. Yes, that thou shouldst seem a man. 

Ges. What should I seem? 

Tell. A monster. 

Ges. Ha ! Beware ! — think on thy chains. 



86 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

Tell. Though they were doubled, and did weigh me 
dowu 
Prostrate to earth, methinks I could rise up 
Erect, with nothing but the honest pride 
Of telling thee, usurper, to thy teeth, 
Thou art a monster. — Think on my chains! 
How came they on me? 

Ges. Darest thou question me? 

Tell. Darest thou answer ? 

Ges. Beware my vengeance. 

Tell. Can it more than kill? 

Ges. And is not that enough? 

Tell. No, not enough : 
It cannot take away the grace of life — 
The comeliness of look, that virtue gives — 
Its port erect, with consciousness of truth — 
Its rich attire of honorable deeds — 
Its fair report, that's rife on good men's tongues : 
It cannot lay its hand on these, no more 
Than it can pluck his brightness from the sun, 
Or, with polluted finger, tarnish it. 

Ges. But it can make thee writhe. 

Tell. It may, and I may say, 
Go on, though it should make me groan again. 

Ges. Whence comest thou ? 

Tell. From the mountains. 

Ges. Canst tell me any news from them? 

Tell. Ay ; they watch no more the avalanche. 

Ges. Why so ? 

Tell. Because they look for thee. The hurricane 
Comes unawares upon them ; from its bed 
The torrent breaks, and finds them in its track. 



SELECTIONS IN DIALOGUES. 87 

Ges. What then ? 

Tell. They thank kind Providence it is not thou. 
Thou hast perverted nature in them. The earth 
Presents her fruits to them, and is not thanked. 
The harvest sun is constant, and they scarce 
Return his smile. Their flocks and herds increase, 
And they look on, as men, who count a loss. 
There's not a blessing, Heaven vouchsafes them, but 
The thought of thee doth wither to a curse, 
As something they must lose, and had far better 
Lack. 

Ges. 'Tis well. I'd have them, as their hills, 
That never smile, though wanton summer tempt 
Them e'er so much. 

Tell. But they do sometimes smile. 

Ges. Ah ! when is that? 

Tell. When they do pray for vengeance. 

Ges. Dare they pray for that? 

Tell. They dare, and they expect it, too. 

Ges. From whence? 

Tell. From Heaven, and their true hearts. 

Ges. \_To Sarnem.] Lead in his son. Now will I 
take 
Exquisite vengeance. [ To Tell, as the boy enters."] I 

have destined him 
To die along with thee. 

Tell. To die ! for what? he's but a child. 

Ges. He's thine, however.- 

Tell. He is an only child. 

Ges. So much the easier to crush the race. 

Tell. He may have a mother. 

Ges. So the viper hath — 
And yet, who spares it, for the mother's sake? 



™ 



88 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

Tell. I talk to stone. I'll talk to it no more 
Come, my boy, I taught thee how to live — 
I'll teach thee — how to die. 

Ges. But, first, I'd see thee make 
A trial of thy skill, with that same bow. 
Thy arrows never miss, 'tis said. 

Tell. What is the trial? 

Ges. Thou look'st upon thy boy, as though thou 
guessest it. 

Tell. Look upon my boy ! What mean you ? 
Look upon my boy, as though I guessed it ! — 
Guessed the trial, thou'dst have me make ! — 
Guessed it instinctively ! Thou dost not mean — 
No, no — thou wouldst not have me make 
A trial of my skill upon my child ! — 
Impossible ! I do not guess thy meaning. 

Ges. I'd see thee hit an apple on his head, 
Three hundred paces off. 

Tell. Great Heaven ! 

Ges. On this condition, only, will I spare 
His life and thine. 

Tell. Ferocious monster ! make a father 
• Murder his own child ! 

Ges. Dost thou consent? 

Tell. With his own hand ! — 
The hand I've led him, when an infant, by ! 
My hands are free from blood, and have no gust 
For it, that they should drink my child's. 
I'll not murder my boy, for Gesler. 

Boy. You will not hit me, father. You'll be sure 
To hit the apple. Will you not save me, father? 

Tell. Lead me forth — I'll make the trial. 



SELECTIONS IN DIALOGUES. 89 

Boy. Father 

Tell. Speak not to me ; 
Let me not hear thy voice — thou must be dumb ; 
And so should all things be — earth should be dumb, 
And heaven, unless its thunder muttered at 
The deed, and sent a bolt to stop it. 
Give me my bow and quiver. 

Ges. When all is ready. Sarncm, measure hence 
The distance — three hundred paces. 

Tell. Will he do it fairly? 

Ges. What is't to thee, fairly, or not? 

Tell. \_Sarcastically.~] O, nothing ; a little thing, 
A very little thing ; I only shoot 
At my child ! [Sarnem prepares to measure.'] 

Tell. Villain, stop ! You measure against the sun. 

Ges. And what of that? 
What matter whether to, or from the sun? 

Tell. I'd have it at my back. The sun should shine 
Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots — 
I will not shoot against the sun. 

Ges. Give him his way. [Sarnem paces and goes 
oat.'] 

Tell. I should like to see the apple I must hit. 

Ges. [Picks out the smallest one.] There, take that. 

Tell. You've picked the smallest one. 

Ges. I know I have. Thy skill will be 
The greater, if thou hittest it. 

Tell. [Sarcastically.] True — true! I did not think 
of that. 
I wonder I did not think of that. A larger one 
Had given me a chance to save my boy. 
Give me my bow. Let me see my quiver. 



90 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

Ges. Give him a single arrow. \_To an attendant. 

Tell looks at it and breaks it.~] 
Tell. Let me see my quiver. It is not 
One arrow in a do'zen, I would use 
To shoot with at a dove, much less, a dove 
Like that. 

Ges. Show him the quiver. 
[Sarnem returns and takes the apple and the boy to place 
them. While this is doing, Tell conceals an arrow, 
under his garment. He then selects another arrow, 
and, says,] 
Tell. Is the boy ready? Keep silence, now, 
For Heaven's sake, and be my witnesses, 
That if his life's in peril from my hand, 
'Tis only for the chance of saving it. 
For mercy's sake, keep motionless and silent. 
\_He aims and shoots in the direction of the boy. In a 
moment Sarnem enters with the apple on the arrow y s 
point. ~\ 
Sar. The boy is safe. 
Tell. \_Baising his arms.~\ Thauk Heaven ! 

\_As he raises his arms the concealed arrow falls.'] 
Ges. \_Picking it up.] Unequalled archer ! why was 

this concealed? 
Tell. To kill thee, tyrant, hacj I slain my boy. 



SELECTIONS IN DIALOGUES. 91 

III. MR. PICKWICK'S ROMANTIC ADVENTURE 

WITH A MIDDLE-AGED LADY IN YELLOW CURL-PAPERS. 

" Dear me, it's time to go to bed. It will never do, 
sitting here. I shall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pick- 
wick ! " 

At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. Peter Mag- 
nus rang the bell for the chamber-maid ; and the striped 
bag, the red bag, the leather hat-box, and the brown- 
paper parcel, having been conveyed to his bed-room, he 
retired in company with a japanned candlestick to one 
side of the house, Avhile Mr. Pickwick, and another 
japanned candlestick, were conducted through a multi- 
tude of tortuous windings to another. 

" This is your room, Sir," said the chamber-maid. 

" Very well," replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. 
It was a tolerably large, double-bedded room, with a fire ; 
upon the whole, a more comfortable-looking apartment 
than Mr. Pickwick's short experience of the accomoda- 
tions of the Great White Horse had led him to expect. 

" Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course," said Mr. 
Pickwick. 

"O, no, Sir." 

" Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some 
hot water at half past eight in the morning, and that I 
shall not want him any more to-night." 

" Yes, Sir." Aud bidding Mr. Pickwick good night, 
the chamber-maid retired, and left him alone. 

Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the 
fire, and fell into a train of rambling meditations. First 






92 ATWELL S EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 

he thought of his friends, and wondered when they would 
join him ; then his mind reverted to Mrs. Martha Bar- 
dell ; and from that lady it wandered by a natural pro- 
cess, to the dingy counting-house of Dodson and Fogg. 
From Dodson and Fogg's it flew ofF at a tangent, to the 
very centre of the history of the queer client ; and then 
it came back to the Great White Horse at Ipswich, with 
sufficient clearness to convince Mr. Pickwick that he was 
falling asleep ; so he roused himself, and began to un- 
dress, when he recollected he had left his watch on the 
table dowu stairs. 

Now, this watch was a special favorite with Mr. Pick- 
wick, having been carried about, beneath the shadow of 
his waistcoat, for a greater number of years than we feel 
called upon to state, at present. The possibility of going 
to sleep, unless it were ticking gently beneath his pillow, 
or in his watch-pocket over his head, had never entered 
Mr. Pickwick's brain. So, as it was pretty late now, 
and he was unwilling to ring his bell at that hour of 
the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had just 
divested himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in 
his hand, walked quietly down stairs. 

The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more 
stairs there seemed to be to descend ; and again and 
again, when Mr. Pickwick got into some narrow pas- 
sage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained 
the ground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before 
his astonished eyes. At last he reached a stone hall, 
which he remembered to have seen when he entered the 
house. Passage after passage did he explore ; room after 
room did he peep into ; at length, just as he was on the 
point of giving up the search in despair, he opened the 



SELECTIONS IN DIALOGUES. 93 

door of the identical room in which he had spent the 
evening, and beheld his missing property on the table. 

Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and pro- 
ceeded to retrace his steps to his bed-chamber. If his 
progress downwards had been attended with difficulties 
and uncertainty, his journey back was infinitely more 
perplexing. Rows of doors garnished with boots of 
every shape, make, and size, branched off in every 
possible direction. A dozen times did he softly turn 
the handle of some bed-room door, which resembled 
his own, when a gruiF cry from within, of " Who the 
devil's that?" or "What do you want here?" caused 
him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a marvellous celerity. 
He was reduced to the verge of despair, when an open 
door attracted his attention. He peeped in — right at 
last. There were the two beds, whose situation he per- 
fectly remembered, and the fire still burning. His can- 
dle, not a long one when he first received it, had flickered 
away in the draughts of air through which he had passed, 
and sunk into the socket just as he closed the door after 
him. " No matter," said Mr. Pickwick ; " I can undress 
myself just as well by the light of the fire." 

The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door ; 
and on the inner side of each was a little path, terminat- 
ing in a rush-bottomed chair, just wide enough to admit 
of a person's getting into or out of bed, on that side, if 
he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the 
curtains of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat 
down on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely divested 
himself of his shoes and gaiters. He then took off and 
folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and slowly 
drawing on his tasselled night-cap, secured it firmly on 



94 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

his head, by tying beneath his chin the strings which 
he had always attached to that article of dress. It was 
at this moment that the absurdity of his recent bewilder- 
ment struck upon his mind ; and throwing himself back 
in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to 
himself so heartily, that it would have been quite de- 
lightful to any man of well-constituted mind to have 
watched the smiles which expanded his amiable features 
as they shone forth from beneath the night-cap. 

" It is the best idea," said Mr. Pickwick to himself, 
smiling till he almost cracked the night-cap strings, — 
" it is the best idea, my losing myself in this place, and 
wandering about those staircases, that I ever heard of. 
Droll, droll, very droll." Here Mr. Pickwick smiled 
again, a broader smile than before, and was about to 
continue the. process of undressing, in the best possible 
humor, when he was suddenly stopped by a most unex- 
pected interruption ; to wit, the entrance into the room 
of some person with a candle, who, after locking the 
door, advanced to the dressing-table, and set down the 
light upon it. 

The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was 
instantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and 
wonder-stricken surprise. The person, whoever it was, 
had come in so suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. 
Pickwick had no time to call out, or oppose their en- 
trance. Who could it be ? A robber ! Some evil-miuded 
person who had seen him come up stairs with a handsome 
watch in his hand, perhaps. What was he to do ! 

The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a 
glimpse of his mysterious visitor with the least danger 
of being seen himself, was by creeping on to the bed, 



SELECTIONS IN DIALOGUES. 95 

and peeping out from between the curtains on the oppo- 
site side. To this manoeuvre he accordingly resorted. 
Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, so 
that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and 
night-cap, and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up 
courage, and looked out. 

Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. 
Standing before the dressing glass was a middle-aged 
lady in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing 
what ladies call their " back hair." However the un- 
conscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was 
quite clear that she contemplated remaining there for the 
night ; for she had brought a rush-light and shade with 
her, which, with praiseworthy precaution against fire, she 
had stationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glim- 
mering away. like a gigantic lighthouse in a particularly 
small piece of water. 

" Bless my soul," thought Mr. Pickwick, " what a 
dreadful thing ! " 

" Hem ! " said the lady ; and in went Mr. Pickwick's 
head with automaton-like rapidity. 

" I never met with anything so awful as this," thought 
poor Mr, Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops 
upon his night-cap. u Never. This is fearful." 

It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to 
see what was going forward. So out went Mr. Pick- 
wick's head again. The prospect was worse than before. 
The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her hair ; 
and carefully enveloped it, in a muslin night-cap with a 
small plaited border, and was gazing pensively on the 
fire. 

" This matter is growing alarming," reasoned Mr. 



96 



ATWELE S EPITOME OF ELOCUTION. 



Pickwick with himself. " I can't allow things to- go on 
in this way. By the self-possession of that lady, it's clear 
to me that I must have come into the wrong room. 
If I call out she'll alarm the house, but if I remain 
here, the consequence will be still more frightful ! " 

Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one 
of the most modest and delicate-minded of mortals. The 
very idea of exhibiting his night-cap to a lady, over- 
powered him, but he had tied these confounded strings in 
a knot, and do what he would, he couldn't get it off. 
The disclosure must be made. There was only one other 
way of doing it. lie shrunk behind the curtains, and 
called out very loudly, — 

"Ila-lmm." 

That the lady started at this unexpected sound was 
evident, by her falling up against the rush-light shade ; 
that she persuaded herself it must have been the effect 
of imagination was equally clear, for when Mr. Pick- 
wick, under the impression that she had fainted away, 
stone-dead from fright, ventured to peep out again, she 
was gazing pensively on the fire as before. 

"Most extraordinary female this," thought Mr. Pick- 
wick, popping in again. " Ila — hum." 

These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends 
inform us, the ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the 
habit of expressing his opinion that it was time to lay 
the cloth, were too distinctly audible to be again mis- 
taken for the workings of fancy. 

" Gracious Heaven ! " said the 
" what's that ! " 

" It's — it's — only a gentleman, 
Pickwick from behind the curtains. 



middle-aged lady, 
Ma'am," said Mr. 



SELECTIONS IN DIALOGUES. 97 

" A gentleman ! " said the lady with a terrific scream. 

" It's all over," thought Mr. Pickwick. 

" A strange man ! " shrieked the lady. Another instant 
and the house would be alarmed. Her garments rustled 
as she rushed towards the door. 

" Ma'am," said Mr Pickwick, thrusting out his head, 
in the extremity of his desperation, " Ma'am." 

Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by 
any definite object in putting out his head, it was in- 
stantaneously productive of a good effect. The lady, 
as we have already stated, was near the door. She 
must pass it to reach the staircase, and she would most 
undoubtedly have done so, by this time, had not the sud- 
den apparition of Mr. Pickwick's night-cap driven her 
back, into the remotest corner of the apartment, where 
she stood staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr. 
Pickwick in his turn stared wildly at her. 

u Wretch," said the lady, covering her eyes with her 
hands, " what do you want here?" 

"Nothing, Ma'am — nothing whatever, Ma'am," said 
Mr. Pickwick, earnestly. 

" Nothing ! " said the lady, looking up. 

"Nothing, Ma'am, upon my honor," said Mr. Pick- 
wick, nodding his head so energetically, that the tassel 
of his night-cap danced again. " I am almost ready to 
sink, Ma'am, beneath the confusion of addressing a lady 
in my night-cap ; (here the lady hastily snatched off hers ;) 
but I can't get it off, Ma'am ; (here Mr. Pickwick gave it 
a tremendous tug in proof of the statement.) It is evi- 
dent to me, Ma'am, now, that I have mistaken this bed- 
room for my own. I had not been here five minutes, 
Ma'am, when you suddenly entered it." 



98 atwell's epitome of elocution. 

" If this improbable story be really true, Sir," said the 
lady, sobbing violently, "yon will leave it instantly." 

" I will, Ma'am, with the greatest pleasure," replied 
Mr. Pickwick. 

" Instantly, Sir," said the lady. 

" Certainly, Ma'am," interposed Mr. Pickwick, very 
quickly. " Certainly, Ma'am. I — I — am very sorry, 
Ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, making his appearance at 
the bottom of the bed, " to have been the innocent occa- 
sion of this alarm and emotion ; deeply sorry, Ma'am." 

The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality 
of Mr. Pickwick's character was beautifully displayed at 
this moment under the most trying circumstances. Al- 
though he had hastily put on his hat over his night-cap, 
after the manner of the old patrol ; although he carried 
his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and 
waistcoat over his arm, nothing could subdue his native 
politeness. 

" I am exceedingly sorry, Ma'am," said Mr'. Pickwick, 
bowing very low. 

" If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room," 
said the lady. 

" Immediately, Ma'am ; this instant, Ma'am," said 
Mr. Pickwick, opening the door, and dropping both 
his shoes with a loud crash in so doing. 

"I trust, Ma'am," resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering 
up his shoes, and turning round to bow again, " I trust, 
Ma'am, that my unblemished character, and the devoted 
respect I entertain for your sex, will plead as some slight 
excuse for this " — but before Mr. Pickwick could con- 
clude the sentence, the lady had thrust him into the 
passage, and locked and bolted the door behind him. 

Pickwick Papers. 



